


Give a Dog a Bones

by ThatSassyCaptain



Series: McCoy's Dog Days [2]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Action/Adventure, Dogs, Friendship, Gen, Mystery, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2020-02-07 12:25:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18620590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatSassyCaptain/pseuds/ThatSassyCaptain
Summary: We pick up a decade or so after where 'Dog Days' left off: With the Enterprise refitted and ready for some 'explorating', our beloved pals head to a trade conference. Who knows what they will encounter? Aliens? Intrigue? MORE GIANT DOGS? Could be anything.Cross-posted from FFN





	1. It begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the long awaited sequel that's been like 20 minutes in the making (over the course of 3 years). Here we have another adventure that I hope lives up to everyone's expectations. I'll do my darnedest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place after ST: The Motion Sickness and like canon we're going to pretty much ignore it.

He liked these new uniforms better. McCoy had just traded in his plunging neckline for the most sensible turtleneck in the galaxy. And according to the new uniform regulations, he could wear it under his medical jumpsuit as well. _Finally_.

So the _Enterprise_ had been refitted. He didn't really care or get up in arms about it like Scotty did. It was bigger, nicer, and it had better quarters for the officers. Scotty couldn't complain about all the new space in the conjoining bathroom- there was more than enough room for a sizeable liquor closet.

McCoy was relishing his privacy and his new uniform. Whatever they made them out of, it was soft. He ran his hands down the sleeves one more time before pulling on the jumpsuit. Oh, the jackets were alright, but medical certainly didn't draw the short straw this time. All the nurses had a distinct uniform, harkening back to the days of old with white aprons and labcoats. More than just aesthetics- this stuff was _comfortable_.

He felt dressed to the nines as he stepped out of his quarters. But the halls were full. Crisp, new uniforms paraded around at every turn, brightened up the turbolifts, and made Sickbay look every bit the well-oiled machine it was.

"Morning, Doctor." He and Chapel said about in unison. It had become a bit of a habit since she'd become Assistant CMO. But it was plain chaos when M'Benga visited from Vulcan- 'doctor' hardly seemed like a real word at the end of that week. Other than that, they all got along splendidly. Really, everything about the _Enterprise_ seemed better than it ever was.

His office had a lot of glass, transparent aluminum, or whatever the clear stuff they stuck up instead of walls was. There was no napping on duty in this box, no siree. He sat down behind the desk and started pouring over last night's report. All but one case of Cytherian Flu had cleared up, and Lieutenant Commander Leslie was feeling well enough to try the alternate set of vaccines. So, no news.

Chapel was walking this way. McCoy stuck his head out the door and called after her. "Anything interesting happen 'fore I got here?"

Chapel rolled her eyes and turned back around to face her boss. "Eddie Leslie started projectile sneezing again, but it's slowed down. You ought to ask the Head Nurse."

"Sorry." McCoy grinned. "Force of habit."

"You say that _every morning_." Chapel turned on her heel and walked off. She had bigger fish to fry than one bored CMO. Knowing this ship, work would turn up.

McCoy dropped back into his chair and swiveled back and forth. He surveyed the Sickbay like a nervous factory manager. Everything seemed too quiet. Nurses came and went on their own assignments; a lab tech or two would appear, but no patients. No injured.

But he ought to relax, shouldn't he? This was the flagship, and arguably the most famous vessel in the Federation. She'd proved herself in battle with both firepower and maneuverability. What did he have to worry about?

" _Kirk to Sickbay."_

 _That_ , for one thing.

McCoy pounced on the comm before it had the chance to click off. "Sickbay here. Jim what's wrong?"

There was laughter on the other end. _The nerve_. " _Nothing's wrong, Bones, just calling to check your status and remind you about the diplomatic envoy."_

Like he could forget. In about three days time, they were scheduled to pick up a whole mess of ambassadors and deliver them to a trade conference hosted by the Canopian Alliance. It was a smaller power, but the Canopians had such a wide variety of vegetable and grain species, that all corners of the quadrant were enticed to attend.

"I've already set up the tank for the Marecinian delegation, so-"

" _Bones, there's an ion storm moving towards the Alliance border. We're jumping to Warp 8 so we can pick them up today._ "

McCoy about fell out of his seat. "Today? Jim you're joking!" They hadn't even _started_ pumping the water into the cargo bay, let alone pressurizing the quarters on Deck Four. And they had to give the starbase the room coordinates…

" _Bones? Bones are you still there?"_

"Yes Jim." He snapped, "But if I have an aneurism, I'm holding you personally responsible. Do you know how many things we're behind on now?"

McCoy could hear the sigh over the connection. " _Blame the ion storm, Bones. I can distribute maintenance personnel wherever you need them."_

"Redistribute all of Operations, why don't you! Now if you don't mind Captain sir, I don't have time to hang around chitchatting! McCoy out."

He jammed his fist down on the comm button and scurried out from behind his desk.

"Doctor Chapel! The powers that be have decided to upend our department. All the deadlines have been moved up to _tonight_. If you don't mind supervising the pressurization operations, I'll go handle the hullabaloo with the cargo bay."

Chapel's face remained an impassive mask of professionalism, but her eyes betrayed the irritation McCoy knew to be lurking just beneath the surface. Since she'd become a doctor, Chapel had a whole different air about her. It was like she'd finally found herself, the place she belonged and wanted to be. In a way, they all had. Coming back together was the best thing that could've happened to them. This crew was family.

"If this is Kirk's fault, I'm wringing his neck." Chapel promised.

"Unfortunately for the both of us, it's an ion storm responsible this time around. But I'm sure you'll get your chance one of these days." Chapel hurried off in a huff. McCoy shook his head at the insanity of it all on got right down to work.

The Berellians wanted a lot of conductive goo, that was a given. McCoy was sending the first team of Jim's reassigned operations folks to the cargo bay, but the second group was on 'hospitality'. All the guest quarters would have to be up to snuff before the diplomats ever arrived. The 'goo' team was sent to replicate whole vats of the stuff while another team took more of a divide and conquer approach. Teams of 2 were sent out to Decks 2 and 6 to ready the guest quarters there.

McCoy concentrated his morning efforts on the Sickbay. He made sure his nurses had the guest dossiers and sent them to synthesize painkillers for each type of alien biology about to embark on the Journey to Canopis Station.

More than anything else, however, they needed feet on the ground. McCoy finished handing out assignments before rolling up his sleeves and jumping right in the middle of it. He headed down to the cargo bay where steady hands were in short supply at the moment.

Scotty was directing traffic. He knew better than anyone the scale of the undertaking, so it was the most sensible place for him to be. McCoy stepped out of the turbolift and had to wait for the passing of a great big hose. Two crewmen waved, but the other seven kept both hands around the massive bunch of rubber. Once they'd cleared, the Doctor continued into the cargo bay.

"Scotty! How's the miracle workin'?"

The Chief Engineer was about as excited for the new schedule as everyone else. Montgomery Scott met McCoy with a fine scowl. "It'll be a _miracle_ if we get the thing finished, Doctor!" He gestured to the tank being constructed in the middle of the floor. There was another, smaller, one already constructed for temporary use if need be, but the behemoth before them was far from finished.

"I'll say." McCoy sighed. "Too bad about that ion storm. But, I know what Jim's thinking and it's for the best. Lord knows we don't want to do _that_ again."

"Aye. I reckon the Captain's made the only decision he could." It still didn't mean they had to like it. "The lads are goin' as fast as they can, but it'll be close."

McCoy watched as the engineers hoisted each other up on cables and anti-grav scaffolds. And on top of all that, they had to fill the blasted thing with water. "Where do you need me? I can help out anywhere they need an extra set of hands."

Scotty gave him a look that ruled out any construction-based activity. McCoy vowed to be offended later, if they were less pressed for time.

"Y'know, none of the lads can take the time to set the chemical regulator for the tank…"

"…And I just happen to have the medical know-how to make sure the Marecinians don't end up in a vat of salt?"

"Aye," Scotty chuckled, "That about sums it up. Pressure controls are that way, regulator's on the second level." He pointed and clapped a hand on McCoy's back. "Good to have you on the team."

McCoy rolled his eyes and made his way toward the ladder. "Don't get used to it!"

He flagged down another engineer and had her point the way towards that pesky regulator. Truth be told, it was not a hard thing to find, now that he knew what it looked like. The regulator was this massive hunk of metal wired in a dozen places to one of the computer terminals. Something told him this wasn't going to be an easy job.

McCoy pushed his sleeves back up and started fussing with the main panel. Some fool had set it to pump out clear freshwater, 100% pure H2O. Pulling up a settings menu took a few tries, considering the regulator looked like it had been _made_ for freshwater, and McCoy realized this was really going to be a project.

He circled around to the side and pried off the plate labeled 'chemicals'. _Boy howdy_. Inside, he ought to find the sample canisters containing the various vitamins and minerals needing to be replicated. Instead, he found a mess.

"Confound this ancient machinery." McCoy declared, heedless of volume or eavesdroppers. He was going to have to make a decision he knew he'd regret. Temporarily abandoning his post, the Doctor trudged to the nearest storage closet and traded out his lovely white jumpsuit for some engineering coveralls.

Now it was time to tame the beast. Or die trying… At least he wouldn't soil his luxurious new uniform on the first day.

The first thing that had to go was the wire connecting the call system to the main computer circuitry. He grabbed the fat hunk of rubber and ripped it out of the frayed housing. Now it wouldn't dispense a drop unless he told it otherwise. McCoy knew most of the unit would have to be replaced eventually, but he had less than 8 hours. This had all the earmarks of a pet project. _Or a quagmire,_ he thought ruefully.

At all times, he kept the formulas for sucrose and sodium chloride in the back of his mind, as these were the two most abundant chemicals found in the waters on the Marecinians' home world. The components of these two compounds were the only ones that needed to be in ready supply at this juncture. The rest of the stuff in there could go and rot. McCoy told it so.

When the injector started sparking at him, McCoy swore up and down that the second this mission was over, he would _personally_ throw the hunk of junk misnomer of a 'regulator' out an airlock. Scotty's subsequent laughter was almost as loud. Of course, that sent the good Doctor into another blue streak that had the whole cargo bay walking on eggshells.

When somebody finally came and tapped him on the shoulder, McCoy was covered in grease, cleaning solution, and sweat in nearly equal parts. A pretzel stick hung out the side of his mouth like a cigar. It took two attempts to get his attention. The Doctor backed his arms out of the machine's belly and turned, giving his visitor a good look at the mess he'd made of himself.

"Wow, Bones, I thought you were a doctor, not an engineer."

The pretzel stick disappeared and a grease-stained hand replaced it with another. "Jim, unless you brought something other than solution for me to dip these things in, get lost. I've nearly coaxed it into pumping water and not sludge."

The Captain, uniform pristine as the minute it was delivered, looked down at his CMO with a shake of his head. "Cleaning solution, Bones? Maybe I should be the one monitoring _your_ diet. Besides, I'm sure someone else can handle the repairs while you get cleaned up."

McCoy turned away and stuck his face up against the opening. "Where are you gonna find spare personnel at this hour? I bet Scotty's got them worked to the bone or spread clear across the ship." The regulator chose this moment to spit a liquid mix of grease and charred sucrose all over its attending physician.

Jim pursed his lips. "You sure?"

Scowling, McCoy wiped off a majority of the sludge with his filthy sleeve. "Yes I am, _Captain_ , unless you can scare up an engineer who can fix this thing to my specifications."

He didn't see his Captain's raised eyebrows. "Of course I can, Bones, if one of them doesn't mind changing back out of dress uniform. Roll call was half an hour ago."

McCoy blinked. Half an hour? "Ain't no way, Jim, I only just started pulling apart the compressor. It's slow work, not being an engineer, but I couldn't've-"

"Taken seven hours? You did. The last progress report you gave Scotty said it was 87 percent complete, and he took that one in his quarters. The Marecinians can wait another half hour for their quarters, but _you_ are needed to greet the diplomatic envoy. They expect nothing less."

The Doctor's face went slack with surprise. Shock, maybe. "Seven hours, Jim?"

" _Transporter Room to Captain Kirk._ " Scotty's voice echoed in the cargo bay. " _The diplomatic envoys are ready to begin transport._ "

"Well, Bones, looks like you're out of time." Jim scowled at the ceiling, upset at himself for not thinking to check with his senior officers at least a little bit in advance. He grabbed McCoy's arm and hauled him off the ground. "We're going to have to take this show on the road. Where is your uniform?"

It wasn't in the storage closet where McCoy left it. Jim knew it would take far too long to hike up to Bones' quarters for a replacement, so another pair of coveralls would have to do. An apologizing ensign met them in the turbolift with a washcloth. McCoy managed to get his arms clean by the time they reached the transporter room.

"Stand back here with me, Doctor. They might not notice." Scotty pulled him behind the console- so his state of dress might pass unnoticed- and took the wet washcloth to McCoy's face. The transporter chief began shoving the doctor into his uniform jacket. Although too big, the young man said, it might serve in a pinch.

"Besides, the turtleneck is a good look." The fussing was over and the ship's CMO looked mostly presentable. He was reminded of the scene in the old standard-display movie _Mulan_ , where she gets tugged around like some sort of dress-up doll. It wasn't something he was keen on doing again.

The Captain turned to his motley crew, mostly assembled before him. He fought the urge to groan. "Scotty, did we get someone on that regulator problem?"

"Aye sir. It'll be done within the hour."

Jim breathed a huge sigh. "Wonderful. Alright, people. It's showtime." He turned to face the platform. "Mister Scott, whenever you're ready."

"Aye sir." Scotty punched in the coordinates and got ready to start the beam up. "It'll be the Starfleet Security detail and the Berellian Ambassadors first. Beginning transport sequence."

They all watched the golden haze spread over the transporter platform. McCoy could see some tall, slender figures materializing in the front, but the back was a wall of light. When the atom descrambling was finished, his jaw dropped. There were the Marecinians in front, swaddled in water-retention suits, but behind them…

"Blue!" It was a man's voice, a grown voice, but the owner was unmistakable. After all these years, he hadn't lost his youthful charm.

"Conna!" McCoy forgot his state of dress and bolted out from behind the transporter console. The Marecinians quickly vacated the pad. They wouldn't want to stand in the way of this reunion.

Hard to imagine as it was, but Conna had _grown_ since McCoy saw him last. His fur was a rich dark brown, speckled with white spots, and now it seemed he had a uniform of his own. There was a maroon jacket stretched across his shoulders with –surprise of surprises- a Starfleet pin attached to the front. He had the rank of lieutenant, Security division. Conna must've gotten a universal translator implant as well, because his outfit lacked the clunky cylinder they'd used to talk last time.

McCoy only had a moment to take this in before Conna came to a full stop at the edge of the platform, paw coming up parallel to the side of his head. "Lieutenant Conna- diplomatic security- reporting for duty, Captain."

He could practically _feel_ Jim's grin, which made the Doctor think there was a little more to this than plain surprise. Jim was smiling brightly when he addressed Conna. "Welcome aboard, Lieutenant. I believe you're familiar with my senior staff…"

Careful to avoid the Marecinians- who were _much_ smaller than the full-grown Lieutenant- Conna stepped down off the pad and made a beeline for McCoy.

"What are you doin' here?" The Doctor decided to throw formality out the window and go straight for the ears. Conna, now much taller than McCoy, licked his face in response.

Jim was grinning like a fool and not a starship captain. "We wanted to surprise you, Bones." He approached the mess of affection. "Chapel was going to keep you away from Sickbay all day so you wouldn't see the last-minute roster, but you did that for yourself."

"Yes." The voice McCoy was starting to connect with Conna said. "I was wondering why you smelled like Engineering."

That got a laugh out of Scotty and McCoy couldn't help but grin. "I just happened to be answerin' the call of duty. Any officer would've stepped in and done the same for our guests. Speakin' of, Jim- do we have somebody…?"

Some lieutenants in perfectly crisp uniforms had already come through the door, ready to escort the Marecinian envoy to their freshly pumped quarters. Jim nodded to Scotty and turned back towards the transporter pad. Only two arrivals this time, and _boy_ , were they big!

It took him a moment to conjure up 'Icheleus' instead of 'Asta', but McCoy recognized the big ol' head of security at once. The old feller was a little grey around the muzzle, but he looked to be in top form otherwise. Next to him was a much younger Treivan, and they were both wearing some kind of… 'dog sweaters' was the best thing his mind could conjure at the moment.

"Doctor McCoy." Icheleus strode forward. His deep voice boomed in the little room, though he hadn't 'spoken' loudly. Somehow, it was exactly what he'd imagined.

"Icheleus. Forgive me, I don't know if I ever knew your proper title, or I'd use it." McCoy made a sort of bowing gesture since they didn't shake hands, and Icheleus seemed far less inclined to lick his face.

The older Treivan's eyes sparkled. "It was 'Captain' when we first met, though now 'Ambassador' is much more fitting." It seemed Icheleus had mellowed with age. He wasn't bounding around, stalking, barking orders, or any of that. This was a wiser Icheleus.

"Well then, Ambassador, I'm glad to welcome you aboard the _Enterprise_." McCoy rocked back onto his heels, grinning. This was shaping up to be a real good day.

"I thank you, Doctor. Also, allow me to introduce my daughter Rhaelam." The young lady stepped forward, not longer obscured by her father's bulk. She was small, smaller than he'd remembered Conna being, with wavy, reddish fur-

McCoy's eyes widened slightly as he realized _just whose_ daughter Rhaelam was. "It's a pleasure to meet you, young lady. I believe I knew both your parents back in the day…?" He directed the last bit towards Icheleus, who exhaled quickly through his nose. A Treivan laugh? A snort?

"You are correct, Doctor. Rhaelam is mine and Ramicran's daughter. We were paired before the invasion, and were able to enter unity after Ambassador Hanari resolved the trouble."

"Ramicran!" Jim spoke up then, surprised. "I'd never have taken you two for a couple, but congratulations either way." There was a faraway look in his eyes for a moment. He probably remembered a lot about the Treivan mission just then.

"Thank you, Captain Kirk. Thank you too for your hospitality. Though, I believe we are holding up the line." He shuffled away from the transporter pad and gestured for Rhaelam to follow.

McCoy jumped right back in, gesturing to Conna and Icheleus. "I can show you to your rooms, the Captain permitting…"

That got a laugh out of Jim. "Of course, Doctor. We really only needed you here for this much. I'm sure Spock, Scotty, and I can handle this without you." There was a twinkle in his eye, and McCoy knew all was golden.

He walked Icheleus, Rhaelam, and Conna out into the hallway. "I can give you the grand tour if you'd like, or we can go straight to your quarters." McCoy was grinning from ear to ear. "Whichever you'd prefer!"

Conna pulled up alongside him and started nosing at his leg. Right. The coveralls. "Blue, you need a wash before the dinner! These clothes look clean, but they reek of Engineering."

McCoy fought the heat creeping up into his face. He could feel the flush coming on, and did his best to wave it off. "I had to take apart a water regulator and put it back together again before all y'all got here. The Marecinians need a special combination of chemicals in their water, and we didn't have another working device."

"It is fine, Doctor." Icheleus spoke up, giving Conna a look that probably said a lot more. "We do not stand so much on formality. I believe Conna wishes this for your sake, not our own."

Chastened, Conna dipped his head a little. "Forgive me. I detected irritation from the Captain on a low level. I would not have mentioned it otherwise."

That made a lot of sense. Jim was kind of in knots about the whole affair. It was reasonable, since they had to move up the timetable and everything. And McCoy really didn't mind. Now that he was off the hook for diplomatic greetings, he couldn't care less if he was a mess.

Though, a shower would be pretty nice right about now.

"I'll be sure to show you to your quarters first. Let me just check the computer…" McCoy walked over to one of the refitted hall terminals and did a quick search. He was awfully glad they had a few of these stationed on every deck. It made information retrieval that much faster.

"There. Your temporary housing is in the recreation deck." He smiled. "Deck Seven. Not too far from Sickbay if anything goes wrong. Let me show y'all the way."

The hallway was filled with bright new uniforms, bustling crewmen, and three giant canines. McCoy had a feeling this might not be turn out bad after all.


	2. Sonic Showers and the Miracles of Fashion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure. It's warming up.

McCoy made quick work of a sonic shower and redressing- the perks of getting new uniforms included they were all clean and all there at once. He hadn't had time to wear 'n tear them with the multiple hazards that came along with space exploration. There was no 'best shirt' or 'comfiest pants' yet. It was like the first page of an empty book. So many adventures to be written.

Lest he wax poetic about textiles too long and leave his new companions all on their lonesome, McCoy got himself shipshape and departed. Conna, Icheleus, and Rhaelam would be excited, no doubt, to see the improvements to the flagship just as much as anyone else. Of course, there came the issue of navigating around the smaller delegates while not neglecting any of the good sightseeing. If he could whip up surgical protocols for a Horta in 45 minutes or less, than he figured he could come up with a spicy enough tour.

First things first. He hadn't personally seen to (and possibly left a bag of pretzel sticks in) the Trievan accommodations since he hadn't a clue they'd be onboard. Of course, it made sense that Trievas II was being invited to the Canopis conference. Their success as a multi-species civilization would essentially be the gold standard to which other partnerships would compare. In the last several years, the friendship between the Matrians and the Trievans had become all but legendary. The two species worked together so well, that they'd developed their own highly effective ways of doing things. In fact, McCoy owed not one but three vaccines to the research hospital on Trievas II. Really, the things folks could do when they started cooperating.

It occurred to him, as he hurried down the hall towards the temporary guest quarters, that he hadn't seen hide nor hair of a handler for these three big canines. Surely Treivas II sent somebody with opposable thumbs along with the doggy delegation. A couple hard winters and the original wave of no-good officials had reduced the 'Assistant' population to near endangered levels. The little lizards would be missing more than a good ol' proper name until their herds were sufficient enough to borrow one or two for off-planet duty.

As McCoy pondered what the correct term for a group of lizards was, he rounded the final curve towards his guests' quarters. No, no. 'Herds' won't answer. There's… There's got to be someone other than Spock I can ask about this, at least to save myself a lecture.

He straightened the front of his uniform as he arrived. The door opened almost immediately. Lieutenant Conna was ready and waiting, his tail wagging.

"Good to see you, Doctor! I like this uniform better than the Engineering one."

McCoy couldn't begrudge Conna his joke."Well this one's clean for starters. Hard to find fault in a uniform fresh out of the bag. But more importantly, I hope the new rooms are up to snuff?"

Conna stood aside to let McCoy survey the place the three Trievans would be staying. The rec rooms had been cordoned in what he'd describe as an ingenious fashion. There was proportionally ample space for the three large canines, and a very grabbale series of curtains had been arranged for their privacy. Of course, he wasn't sure how the question of fine motor operations was being dealt with. At least the Trievan delegation seemed happy.

One of the curtains drew back to reveal Icheleus' stately form as he exited to greet his soon-to-be tour guide. Mellow as the big dog might be, McCoy wasn't really sure where they both stood. Icheleus had been a Captain of some sort. He'd given that a bit of thought in the shower. What had he looked like, parading through the barracks with a blanket and causing all sorts of mischief? Dereliction of duty, lolligagging, and borderline inefficiency were probably rampant.

But in the end, Icheleus had come to his rescue. He had thanked the Captain, but he wasn't quite sure if words could describe the feeling of relief when he'd been thrown from the Matrian war party. He'd been largely insensible for a good minute afterward, but there was still the tangible security in having a 500-odd pound dog snarling in your defense.

"Doctor McCoy." Icheleus sounded pleased to see him at least. "We're eager to see more of your ship after our last visit was so brief. Rhaelam in particular wished to see the stars up close."

The young dog in question was looking anywhere but at McCoy. Go figure- I'd bet my bottom dollar she's a teenager, or wherever the equivalent falls for Trievans. Rhaelam just flicked her ears noncommittally and stayed by her father's side.

"Now, forgive me for being nosy, but if it's not a state secret I'd like to ask where the lovely Mrs. Ramicran is?"

Icheleus' eyes softened at the mention of his… wife? Did big dogs recognize the institution of marriage?

"She is currently on a diplomatic mission of her own. While my specialization is closer along the lines of relations, her specialty is negotiation."

"Really?" McCoy had not had the pleasure of getting acquainted with 'Lassie' as he'd dubbed her. There were a great many dogs to pet, and many more who'd wanted to express their appreciation before the Enterprise left. On top of the smattering thanks he'd been able to receive between rescue and recovery, several holotapes, letters, and other expressions of gratitude had found their way to him over the years. A Matrian cadet he'd met a while back went to far as to blushingly tell him the Trievan derivative 'Leonat' was becoming a popular puppy name.

All that to say, there were a lot of things that had changed without him. He just hoped there was enough time to learn it all before they went their separate ways again. No doubt there would be time to talk on the return trip from the gathering, but it would be precious little.

"I take it she's not as interested in the trade talks, then? Got activities more to her specialization than commerce on Canopis Station?"

There was a rumbling chuckle that the translator didn't bother much with. "As a matter of fact, Ramicran is sorry she's missing this. The initial formalities and festivities are hosted on the station, but there are a few opportunities to tour the planet it orbits. Tonbos Terre boasts some exotic sights."

"Sounds thrilling." In the back of his mind, McCoy went over the vast list of inoculations they had to prep for the mission, and the mad scramble in the Sickbay. Who knew Chapel had played lacrosse back in her wild youth? Anyone who'd set eyes on her slinging the salient PADDs to Nurse Page for input, that's who. "I'm sure we won't have to worry overmuch with Conna and the rest of the Security team out and about."

Conna lit up at the mention and wagged his tail. "I've helped research Tonbos Terre and the rest of the inhabited planets in the Canopian Alliance. There shouldn't be anything there to surprise us."

McCoy groaned. "Oh don't say that! It's always the quiet ones!"

All three Trievans cocked their heads at him.

"It's an old expression. 'Always the quiet ones' who turn on you and whatnot. Murphy's Law, Finagle's Law- a whole host of others. It sounds a little pessimistic, but it's the lot this ship's been dealt."

Conna laughed. "It is pessimistic, Blue! If your ship has been through so many disasters and come out alright, what law would that be?"

McCoy had to hand it to him. The kid was right. "Kirk's Law. Whatever can go wrong can be fixed with sufficient stubbornness."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any chance I have to roast James T Kirk I take it.


	3. It's Raining Ions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I guess. I don't know how ion storms work. Long chapter, compared to the other two?

So far, no one had to invoke Kirk’s Law or anything like it. The tour went off pretty much without a hitch. Most of the visually interesting areas weren’t being occupied by hastily accommodated quarters, so McCoy had the freedom to essentially give the Trievan delegation the run of the place. He did, however, have to leave them to their mealtimes in order to catch up on paperwork. Sickbay didn’t run on autopilot, and there was some kind of major malfunction when he returned.

“I don’t know what you’ve been up to, Doctor,” Chapel groused at him upon arrival, “but we’ve got our work cut out for us.”

He fell into step at her side and they started the age-old routine. “What’s the situation, Doctor?”

‘Well Doctor,” Chapel managed a grin, “Passenger quarters have finally been nailed down- or up, in the Avarian case- so we don’t have a problem there. I’ve had to stop from pulling my hair out after the nonsense calls we’ve been getting, however.”

“Nonsense calls?”

Chapel nodded. “The Vibriddians are complaining that their climate control adjustments can’t be changed by thousandths of a degree.”

McCoy frowned. “The computer can do that.”

“Oh yes. But they want a  _ button _ that can do it, goodness knows why. I rerouted their complaint to Engineering. It’s Scotty’s problem now. But that isn’t the only one.” She whipped out the PADD she’d been carrying under her arm. “Berellian Ambassador’s valet feeling general unease; no required action on our part and they just wanted to make sure someone knew. The Marecinians are delighted that their water is so refreshing and request ‘more snacks’.” McCoy tactfully looked elsewhere. 

“Apparently, your Trievan delegation is a hit with Security and Acting Chief Chekov wants us to issue an allergen warning to all his Ensigns just to keep them in line. Who knew the regime would fall apart under the threat of dog-petting.”

McCoy rolled his eyes. “Heaven help us. We’re not the complaints department.”

“The Captain won’t let me reroute snippiness to officers I’m sore with.”

It was par for the course on a ship so large and important. The Babel conference had been much the same. Really, it was a surprise no one had killed each other yet. Of course, Kirk was no green Captain anymore. He commanded a bit more respect in this corner of the galaxy. Still, it was tempting fate to think too long on their success so far. 

“We’ll just have to swing at whatever they pitch our way, Doctor.” He skimmed the increasingly outrageous list on the PADD. “Even if it’s just been curveballs for the last three hours. Oof.” Such was the life. Even if it didn’t strictly fall under the purview of Sickbay duties, somebody had to field all these complaints. 

“We’ve redirected all calls to my office. Nurse Morris is taking everything down and categorizing complaints based on nature and urgency. So far, we’re holding the fort. No one’s called back reporting any injuries, however, so the situation is stable at the moment.”

At the moment. He really ought to stop dwelling on the volatile nature of it all. McCoy was not a man to put too much stock in luck or karma, but it would do no good to tempt things for the sake of it. 

“At any rate, I’m available for paperwork and troubleshooting.” McCoy handed the PADD back to Chapel. “As long as you don’t stick me in the guts of some misbehaving machine, I’m here.”

That got him a chuckle. “Far be it from me to tell the CMO when he can and can’t get his hands dirty. I’ve done handoff, so now it’s your turn to run the show. Not my circus, not my monkeys for the next couple of hours.”

Giving her a good natured scowl, McCoy broke formation and headed for the impromptu command center in her office. “Sure they’re not your monkeys? Mine are usually of the less cooperative Command variety. We’ll see if the new uniforms survive the fire swallowing act.”

Chapel went along about her business- her break, more likely- and McCoy readied himself for all the hep and hullabaloo on the other side of the door. As he expected, the place was covered in PADDs. McCoy had to make way for a Nurse carrying three as she hurried from the room. Morris was hunched behind Chapel’s desk, running a hand through tight curls as he fielded a call.

“Of course. We’ve already sent your complaint through the priority queue and onto the department that will be able to solve this… psychic dilemma the quickest. Absolutely.” Morris caught McCoy’s eye and waved him toward the other chair. “And they will get in contact with you as soon as they have dealt with the… the obvious large energy threat. No, I’m sorry, I don’t know the officer assigned to your case. Yes, they will call you. Thank you. Apologies.”

He ended the call at once. Morris sank back in his chair and lifted a PADD off the desk. “I would stand at attention, Doctor, but I’m up to my knees in paperwork.”

McCoy chuckled as he sat. “I’m not overly concerned with formalities at this stage, son. Where’s the biggest fire at?”

Morris snorted. “That’s the worst of it sir, no fires. Seems like everyone’s got a candle that they seem to think is a blaze.” He chucked the PADD back with its brethren and rested his elbows on what desk space remained clear. “I don’t know how we did it last time.”

“Easy: last time it was all diplomats. This here’s a  _ trade _ opportunity. The fact that the Federation’s doin’ an eligibility check on the down-low is the only reason why we put up with it.” McCoy figured he’d kick his feet up if there was room. It seemed that the stress of the refit was just compounded with all the additional passengers and their needs. Morris was no green hand, but there was a lot at stake. And to add insult to insanity most of the hypochondriacs decided to put a word in now. But whatever the task, they had their work cut out for them. 

“Anything I can do to lighten the load?” McCoy asked. 

“Short of making house calls? No. This is one of those ‘better I spoke up and there turned out not to be a problem’ kind of jobs by-and-large. Nearly everyone on these lists-” He gestured to the biggest stack of PADDs, “-just wants a listening ear. Unfortunately this isn’t that kind of racket. I do have three  _ real _ issues if you’d like to peruse.” 

Morris slid over a single PADD from a separate area of the desk. McCoy took it and eyed it like it was a venomous snake. 

“At least they aren’t emergencies.” McCoy sighed as he scrolled through the list. “Fractured elbow? Please tell me that one came up here in person and not just-”

Morris nodded. “That they did. A member of the C’Fungam delegation. It made the list because one of them had the sense to call it in ahead of time. The other two are more recent and I don’t know if they’ve been dealt with.”

McCoy turned his attention back to the PADD. The Marecinian delegation had gotten back in touch with Sickbay to let them know that one of the regulators was getting too hot. There had been a minor burn incident, but that could be handled quickly with a Nurse and a call to Engineering. 

The second call was slightly more puzzling. Apparently three more of those C’Fungamis had… “Gone into hibernation’? Morris, what’s that supposed to mean?”

Morris opened his mouth to answer when his computer beeped. “Please ask Nurse Bolivar. I’m handling this.”

McCoy took the dismissal and the PADD. He hurried back out into the Sickbay to track down one Nurse and one mysterious C’Fungami. Lucky enough to catch two birds in the hand without beating around the bush, McCoy found them both in one of the recovery rooms. 

“Nurse Bolivar.” 

She turned to report, crisp white uniform matching well with the newness of the rest of the Sickbay. “Doctor McCoy. This is Trade Administrator Elgaeb of the C’Fungam delegation. I was just about to find a doctor. She wasn’t sedated but…”

Administrator Elgaeb appeared to be sleeping soundly. The biobed readout said she was healthy, but the pale pallor of her emerald skin made him wonder. 

“Was she alert when she came in?” McCoy checked the readouts one more time and pulled up the recorded vitals on the PADD. 

Nurse Bolivar pulled a face. “Not alert, per se. She was walking with aid on her way in. One of the under-ministers, if I understood correctly, helped her in before leaving. And she was conscious for the painkiller, and after. All the sudden…”

“Alright, Nurse. Please file the report and I’ll see about the other three cases.”

Bolivar’s eyes widened. “Other three?”

“Sure as sunshine in a trinary system. We got a call a few minutes ago. I can’t say for sure, but I think a few of these puzzle pieces add up.”

Unfortunately for McCoy, he would have to put his puzzle on hold. 

“ _ Bridge to Sickbay.” _

With a sigh fit to set the Sickbay’s nerves on end McCoy went to answer the call. 

“McCoy here.” He responded. “What’s the emergency.”

_ “We’re going to have to skirt the edge of the storm, Bones.” _ Jim replied. The lack of levity in his tone told half the story. It seemed that, despite their precautions, conditions would remain suboptimal.  _ “We’re picking up some interesting readings up here. Spock will be keeping an eye on it, but we wanted to give you early warning. With so many different biological configurations in play-” _

“Constant vigilance.” McCoy cut in. “I read you, Jim. Just out of curiosity, how close are we to the phenomena?”

There was a pause.  _ “I believe we entered the outer edge a few minutes a-” _

McCoy rolled his eyes. Cutting off his Captain again, he interjected. “Some  _ earlier _ warning would’ve been ideal, Captain. We’ve already got suspected injuries. Please send me Spock’s report when he has it. Something urgent has just come up.”

He ended the call and walked back to where Bolivar was standing. “We need to get a team down to the C’Fungam quarters straight away. It could be nothing, but the timing of this storm is just too suspicious.” McCoy punched a few buttons to send the biobed readouts to his PADD. “When you’re done, stick around here and get prepped for similar cases. I’m going to talk with Doctor Clifford.”

With that, McCoy made a hasty exit. Lucy Clifford was their resident physiotelepathology expert. If anyone could confirm whether or not their was an emergency, it was her. Luckily, outside of breaks, Doctor Clifford could usually be found at her desk in Medlab 4. McCoy tucked his PADD under his arm like a football and proceeded to book it. 

It was very lucky indeed that Doctor Clifford was in. She sat in front of her computer logging data points from a recent experiment, her ankles dangling just over the edge of the seat. McCoy didn’t bother to knock. His staff was well used to his eccentric professional bearing and had learned to adapt. Doctor Clifford was no different. Without looking away from her screen she addressed her CMO.

“This isn’t a priority one assignment, but it will be a pain to have to catalogue these readings again, sir.”

McCoy almost felt bad. Almost. “I’d offer my regrets, Clifford, but this might be an emergency.” She gave him her full attention. “What can you tell me about C’Fungam hibernation cycles? I know they’re straddling the line of telepath and empath, but my expertise doesn’t extend that far.”

Clifford turned her chair to face him. “C’Fungam hibernation patterns present the most common way: once a year per their solar cycle, they enter a deep sleep in order to weather the unique conditions on their planet. I believe there’s a fairly regular pattern of solar flares coinciding with their summers. It wreaks havoc on their tech, but is very profitable where agriculture is concerned.” Clifford blinked. “Why do you ask?”

McCoy pulled a face. “Four members of the C’Fungam delegation-so far- have entered hibernation prematurely. I’ve got reason to suspect it’s related to the same space storm that’s turned our timetable topsy-turvy.”

Clifford responded to his grimace in kind. “Then shake a leg, sir, we’ve got diagnostics to run.”

The Doctor hopped down from her seat and the two of them hurried back down the hall to the Sickbay. There were several nurses and orderlies waiting for them. It seemed like nearly all of the delegation had come down with the early nap epidemic. Stretchers were moving toward biobeds and there was an air of silent panic about. 

Doctor Clifford flagged down an orderly. “Danny, what’s the headcount?”

Danny slid the stretcher aside to respond. “Six so far. Six of eight. The other two have been admitted under observation and they’re wracking their brains trying to figure this out. Glad to have an expert on the scene.”

Doctor Clifford straightened. “Glad to hear the situation is in hand. We should keep an eye on those already asleep. Doctor McCoy and I are going to interview the two still conscious.”

McCoy bit his lip to keep from laughing. Clifford had a way of making hostile takeovers look like works of art. The smooth transition of power was comical, especially since she had every right to run the show as the resident expert. 

“Lead the way, Doctor.” McCoy said, grinning. “We’ve got two lovely C’Fungam to interview.”

Doctor Clifford started heading away. McCoy was about to follow, when the main doors swished open behind him. He turned and met a rapidly falling blur of red and black. His instincts saved his hide and his new patient’s as they both dropped to the floor in a heap. McCoy was able to grab his ailing companion and stop both their heads from hitting the ground. Unfortunately it didn’t stop him from getting a shock. 

“Thank you… Doctor.” Spock blinked, hard, no doubt to clear the haze from his vision. “It seems we have encountered… a problem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have, never once, used spellcheck.


	4. All's Quiet on the Telepathic Front

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCoy gives a briefing and gets a visitor. The plot is simmering, thickening in a medium saucer section on low heat.

“Every telepath onboard is going to be affected. It’s just a matter of when.” McCoy addressed the other officers at the table. “And before anyone gets any hairbrained ideas, stopping it entirely short of diverting all-” He shot a look at Scotty- “And I mean  _ all _ power to the screens is out of the question. Spock ran the math before entering a deeper meditation. It seems like we’re going to just have to deal with the consequences for the duration.”

That cooled the conference room off considerably. Kirk was sitting back in his chair, arms crossed and glowering at the table. Scotty was leaning on his elbows and rubbing at his mustache in consternation. But, there were no outbursts. Until they got through the storm, it seemed, there was no good answer to this quandary.

Kirk spoke up at last. “Have we identified all of our telepathic guests? What’s the protocol in place?”

McCoy leaned on his other elbow. “We’ve notified everyone we could get ahold of and rounded up everyone we couldn’t. So far no casualties- in the traditional sense anyway. I think there’s a Medical team rounding out the last of them. Everyone who’s fit enough to avoid observation has been asked to kick back and take it easy. We’re still not sure if it’s gonna get worse as we proceed.”

That didn’t mollify Kirk in the slightest. “Do we know why this storm? Have there been any particular conditions that the Medical team can identify as the source?”

“No, Captain sir, or we would’ve done something about it.” McCoy stopped and rubbed a hand down his face. “It’s all hands on deck and none of our scans are forthcoming. Spock did a quick analysis and even pulled Chekov from Security to give it a once-over. At this time we have no leads, but the Science Labs are convinced we’ve got the storm’s number at any rate.” 

He decided now was a good a time as any for show and tell. McCoy transferred the chart from his PADD to the conference room screen. “That big purple blotch is the storm. And this-” He switched to the next readout, “-is the storm in ten hours.”

The officers gathered watched as the storm decreased dramatically in size. McCoy showed another projection for 24 hours, at which point the storm was nearly nonexistent. “We were right to ramp up our timetable, because this thing is projected to give off some nasty radiation once it’s in major decline. We’ll be well and clear of it by then, probably already at Canopis Station.”

McCoy closed the program and the screen went dark. “In the meantime, our best course of action is to wait, treat, and recover.”

The room became uneasy again, but nowhere near as tense as they had been in the beginning. Nobody was happy with the way things were playing out for a variety of reasons. McCoy, for instance, didn’t like this whole debacle getting sprung on him like a particularly diabolical jack-in-the box. Jim, he knew, was mad they didn’t have a solution yesterday. Scotty was probably irritated that miracle working was out of the question… for now. 

“That’s my piece, Jim.” McCoy said, sitting down and turning to floor over to the Captain. They’d have to do what they’d always done: weather this thing and find a way to come out with the warp core intact. 

Kirk stayed introspective for a moment before addressing the room. “I think I speak for all of us when I say I don’t like this. But, we’ve got to get everyone to the trade conference. Not to sound callous, but the non-telepaths are still expecting to arrive sometime later this evening. And if all is as Spock and Doctor McCoy say, then it’s just a matter of time.” He stood and straightened his tunic. 

“Well, we’ve got our work cut out for us. Let’s try to make the best of a bad situation. The sooner we have this under control, the sooner we can put it all behind us. This meeting is adjourned so we can get back to damage control.”

“Situation as normal, then.” Scotty’s louder-than-intended comment got a chuckle out of the officers as they stood. Running in this lighthearted vein, Kirk mock shooed them away. McCoy shot him his best supercilious look. That earned him some more animated hand gestures. 

He had work to do anyhow. They all did. And at least he wouldn’t have to worry about helicopter captaining anymore. Gone were the days where Jim would anxiously hover around Sickbay- and McCoy, too, spent less of his minutes on the Bridge- and with them the sense that everything needed monitoring. That had been a big problem back on their first five-year mission. It was a new Captain, new CMO, and a lot of new crewmembers unsure of how things were supposed to work. 

Not to say they didn’t know their jobs. McCoy had theorized after a lot of introspection that his presence on the Bridge was a twofold security measure. On the one hand, he got to observe his Captain and get a feel for the man’s temperament. He could see just how flexible Kirk found the rules, and how the man fared in conversations face-to-face versus over the comm. 

Secondly, it was a safeguard against disaster. Catastrophe struck the Bridge often enough that McCoy actually felt things were better in hand when he was there to provide support. Christine was competent beyond anyone’s wildest expectations. This new crew, this new Captain he’d almost immediately found respect for and kinship with, was safer with him there. 

But they’d all grown. McCoy now had the confidence in Jim he’d lacked in the green Captain all those years ago. He felt secure enough in his place on the ship as well to not try and carve out another one. Of course, he'd still visit the Bridge for status updates and emergencies. The thing that had changed the most was the shift from crew to team to family. 

Like a well-oiled machine, each part worked best in the spot they were made for. McCoy stepped back into the hustle and bustle of Sickbay and re-centered. 

Chapel stuck her head out of her office and gave him a long-suffering look. “Difficult patient in your office, Doctor. Refuses to submit to the new telepath protocols until she speaks with you.”

McCoy pursed his lips. “Alright, Doctor. I’ll take care of it.” It only figured there’d be some holdouts. There always were. Somebody didn’t want their physical, or thought they were the exception to regulation. It never changed. 

But, it always did find a way to surprise him. McCoy walked through the doors of his office and found not a pouting diplomat, but Rhaelam! He nearly stopped and forgot his purpose before recovering, barely a stutter in his steps on the way to his desk. Icheleus’ daughter was sitting ramrod straight on the floor, her long nose in the air and her dark red tail curled up next to her feet. Paws. Both? Rhaelam looked to McCoy with an expectant air. 

“Miss Rhaelam. Doctor Chapel tells me you’ve declined safety protocols for the duration of our voyage.”

Rhaelam nodded. She didn’t say anything, and McCoy was starting to wonder whether it was because the storm was already affecting her. Better it happen in Sickbay than anywhere else. Rhaelam’s tail had begun to twitch when he’d walked in, and her ears were flat. He had observed that while similar to the body language of Earth canines, the Trievans’ silent communication had another layer to it. Not all cues were the same, and not all signals meant what he suspected. Of course, when was anything exactly as he thought?

McCoy sank into the chair across from the Ambassador’s daughter. That’s how he needed to think of her now, while they were having difficulties. She could be his old pal’s offspring later. Right now, he needed to get to understanding what she was thinking. 

“While you have every right to do so…” he continued after a prolonged silence, “we advise at least staying here in Sickbay. Every telepath on the ship is coming down with the same symptoms and we’ve already submitted your father and Lieutenant Conna-”

Rhaelam snorted. The sound caught McCoy by surprise and he stopped mid-thought. She was listening alright, and she didn’t like what she was hearing. 

“I don’t doubt your  _ diagnosis _ , Doctor.” The bitterness was plain even through the translator. Sound quality on her model was too good to be anything else. By his reckoning, it was a very fine-tuned, very  _ accurate _ translation. “What I doubt is that you know enough about me to make any recommendations.”

_ Aha. _ Teen angst. Now this he could deal with. “With all due respect Miss Rhaelam, even our ship’s strongest telepaths- in fact,  _ especially _ our strongest telepaths- are being admitted with symptoms. While I don’t know just how strong your abilities are-”

Her eyes hardened. “You don’t! Clearly you don’t know anything, and you can’t! How could you?” She paused, and McCoy noticed an uptick in her respiratory rate. “My father could tell you,  _ Lieutenant Conna _ could tell you. But you couldn’t possibly know. You’re not telepathic either.”

McCoy opened his mouth but the caustic comment died in his throat.  _ You’re not telepathic either. _ That changed things. Funny way of putting it, but he understood. He leaned his elbows on the desk and swept a hand through his hair, releasing the air he’d saved up for a tirade. Of course Rhaelam wouldn’t want to hang about in Sickbay. Of course she’d be insulted that they’d asked. She wasn’t telepathic either. Time to rethink things a bit. 

“My apologies, Miss Rhaelam. You’re right. We didn’t know, nor do I think we could’ve. Icheleus certainly didn’t mention it, but I reckon that’s because it wasn’t any of our business… at the time.” He shifted back in his seat and noted the anger still lingering in her features. “I’m awful sorry we’ve upset you like this. You’re free to go, of course, or stay here with your father and Conna. Whatever it is you’d like to do-”

Rhaelam didn’t make a move for the door, but the indecisive flicker of her ears caught McCoy’s eye. Her gaze was downcast and she looked like there were an awful lot of things tumbling about in her head. Anger, sure, but maybe something else. Something that made an awful lot of sense now that he had the facts before him. 

“I don’t want to, Doctor McCoy.” Rhaelam said, the translator picking up the full extent of her pain. “I don’t want to wait around with all the… the ship’s telepaths and get asked so many questions by the nurses. It’s hard enough back home! I want it to be different, I want the starship to be… different.”

He could certainly understand that attitude. It happened in telepathic races as often as any anomalies usually did. Just like there were some humans with species-abnormal telepathic abilities, so too did folks with those extras built in end up without them. It wasn’t common with the Vulcans or the Romulans from what little he knew of them. Betazed had a fair handful of non-empaths. Things happened. And with any differentiation- no matter how much they all lauded the IDIC- people noticed. Unkind things were said, or unintended messages broadcast. Pity, shame, otherness… Too bad it had to come to a head again on the  _ Enterprise _ . 

“It can be.” McCoy said simply. He immediately reached for a PADD, tried to think of some activities appropriate for somebody her size and dimensions. Not an excessive amount of fun for a four-legged being but… “I’m drawing up a list of places you can go about your business, do whatever you like. The ship’s on a bit of an alert since we’re down a portion of our crew and a portion of our guests due to this storm- everything’s gonna be right as rain as soon as we clear it. Don’t you worry about that.” He made his final recommendation in the form of the fancy upgraded holodeck and turned the PADD her way for review. “There’s a lot to be done on the ship. Turns out only the psychic hibernation has a prerequisite.”

Rhaelam paused for a moment. McCoy wondered whether or not she’d even listen to what he’d had to say. But, she took one more look at the PADD and leaned forward eagerly to scan the list. 

“I have always wanted to try a holodeck.” She said quietly. “Are they really as big as everyone says?”

“Bigger.” McCoy responded. “They can create as much space as they need to without ever changing size. You could go on a 40-mile hike and never leave that little ol’ room.”

Rhaelam’s eyes widened and she scanned the options with increased vigor. “And swimming? The water is not too cold?”

“Nope. Not typically. But, you’ve got a couple pools to choose from.” This wasn’t what he’d expected, but more than what he’d hoped. Much easier to entertain a teen than fight them tooth and nail on curfew and privileges. 

He let her look over it a moment longer before setting the PADD down on the desk. “You can do any of these, or ask the computer about any specific activities or restrictions. Parts of the ship have been closed down or repurposed due to the passenger complement and the storm…” He waved the idea away. They’d make it to Canopis Station and Tonbos Terre before she ran out of things to do. “The ship is your oyster. Just ask anyone if you need help or an escort.”

Rhaelam cocked her head in an impressive imitation of Conna. “My ‘oyster’?”

McCoy chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. Go have some fun. Let me and the Medical team handle this and we’ll let you know if anything changes.” He winked. “Just try and stay out of trouble.”

And suddenly that big red tail was swishing on the floor. “Thank you, Doctor McCoy! I will! I’ll stay out of trouble and stick to these activities. Please tell my father that everything is alright. He’ll know I-... He will be worried.”

“Will do, Miss Rhaelam. Now go on, quit crowdin’ my office if you’re feeling so well.” Her translator warbled at his mock consternation, but she left the office in high spirits. McCoy caught Chapel’s eye outside the opening door, and observed her questioning look. 

He let the door close with a shrug in her direction. If she really wanted to call him on it, why, he had the prescription right there on his PADD.


	5. Mule-headed Introspection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCoy does some thinking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firefox is glitchin OUT please let me know if anything breaks in transit

They had Tonbos Terre in their proverbial sights. Advance prep was being done for the docking and offloading of the diplomatic parties. Some were even recovering in Sickbay, though a fair few were still sleeping off the effects of that strange storm. Kirk’s ire had gone down with the supervised recovery of his crew, but he was still chomping at the bit to be rid of these hiccups. And true to form, his First Officer was willing to move Mount Seleya itself to get leaps of logic to line up with his aim. 

“As I have said, Doctor, I have recovered sufficiently to allow my departure from Sickbay.”

McCoy kept his arms crossed and his feet planted. “I’m sick of this argument, Spock. Let’s try a different approach. Riddle me this: have you ever known me to keep a patient in Sickbay out of spite?”

Spock was not feeling smug. “Indeed, Doctor, I have.”

“Point made. Have you ever known me to do anything, with possession of all the facts, that proved to be a detriment to my patients?”

That gave Spock a little more pause. “Under the circumstances you describe, I have not.”

“Very well.” McCoy gave Spock a hard look. “And when one is  _ not _ in possession of the facts, one should proceed with due caution should they not?”

“Doctor-”

“I have cleared you for a great many things in my time on board this ship, Spock. Things that have been far more detrimental to your health in the short run. I figure you owe me those overtime hours. Now I’m cashing them in.”

Spock tried one last tack. “Then in the future, Doctor, we may consider the ‘payment’ as you so descr-”

“I kept a record!” McCoy let that famous temper pop. “You may have walked out with an outstanding tab before, but I will collect each hour I’m due before you close it. What you call spite I call ‘for your own good’!” He jabbed a finger towards his reclining patient. “Now stay in that bed before I have to break out your books and detail all those jailbreaks at length. You’re not cleared to be up and about until all those spiky readouts stabilize, same as everybody else.” 

Spock wasn’t sulking just like McCoy wasn’t throwing his weight around. Sometimes, there needed to be a certain level of prevarication. Whatever front was up stayed up for the benefit of everyone involved. In this game of tug-o-war, whoever gave an inch lost. At least on such a small scale. Better they have it out over stakes so low…

But McCoy was in too much of a snit over this old argument to wax philosophical. He turned on his heel and proceeded back out into Sickbay proper. Too bad it took a knock-down-drag-out to get things back to a sense of normalcy. Maybe that was the part that wore on him. It seemed like they’d been given a new lease on life- a new ship and all… But there was something hovering just out of their awareness. McCoy felt like something would dip back into the sensor range of his mind before slipping away. A cloaked danger on the edge of observation. Something big was going to happen. He’d learned to trust his instincts. Didn’t mean he had to like it. 

So it was back to the normalcy before the storm. After the storm. During- McCoy didn’t have time to bandy semantics with himself. He sought the solace of his office and the oasis of a cup of coffee. Tonbos Terre couldn’t get here fast enough. At the very least, they were only a few more hours out. If being bone-weary was the only price he had to pay for weathering the storm, then this would be more successful a voyage than most.

And if that was the case… What was it about this particular spin through the stars that grated on him? McCoy sipped his coffee and sat back in his chair. He’d had it out with Spock before over stints in Sickbay but- Just for his peace of mind, McCoy pulled up the biobed readings for all the patients in Spock’s area. Just for kicks, he pulled up the rest. McCoy rang up Doctor Clifford.

“ _ Clifford here. Go ahead.” _

“This is McCoy. Sorry to bother you again but I wanted to double check something.”

“ _ Of course. You’ve got good instincts, let’s hear the complaint.” _

His lips twitched in spite of himself. “It seems everyone’s leveling out faster than we anticipated. Now, I’m hardly one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but how far along is everybody really? Are we gonna get to move up our release timetable?”

There was a slight pause on the other end. “ _ You’re right about the improvements. Yes, it’s faster than we calculated but we’re dealing with all-new variables. No storm of this nature has been extensively studied and as such we can’t be sure about the effects.” _ McCoy could hear soft beeping as Doctor Clifford checked something at her station. “ _ As a matter of fact, we may not have weighted the proximity of the storm heavily enough into our calculations. If the improvement is related to the storm’s retreat, then it starts adding up again. _ ”

McCoy chewed his lip.  _ So I just ripped Spock a new one over nothing. Ornery hobogblin will be insufferable for days. _ “Would it be inadvisable to start releasing patients on a case-by-case basis?”

“ _ I don’t see a problem with it at this stage. Recommend that they avoid any strenuous activities and have the crew shift to light duty. Other than that, they should be free to go. Observation protocols stand, of course. If anyone relapses I’d like to know sooner rather than later.” _

“Sounds more than reasonable. Thank you for your input, Lucy, I’ll start reviewing readouts and get back to you with the watchout list.”

He closed the channel and pushed back in his chair. Of all the lousy luck in the galaxy, his had to be up there with the worst. Sure, sure he managed to help ward off disaster. No problem herding all these cats (and dogs) in and out of Sickbay. But wouldn’t he know it the minute he finishes giving Spock a pointed-earful, he’s got to turn around and eat crow. 

“Typical!” He complained to the empty office. “Save his thick skull… I’m still the one getting the short end of the stick.” McCoy bounced his toe on the bottom drawer of his desk. The chair rocked as he took a moment to sulk. 

Out of curiosity and need for distraction, McCoy pulled up the readouts for Spock and the deepest hibernators. Conna made the list, as well as the C’Fungami diplomat and a handful of others. Wouldn’t he know it- Spock’s telepathic whatsits had leveled out significantly compared to the rest. On a sliding scale of telepaths, it seemed he’d fallen more in the middle ground. Too bad McCoy’d gone and added insult to injury. Needlessly. 

That sparked his irritation back up in a heartbeat. Now undirected, his ire flickered internally. They hadn’t had a real shouting match since… Well, it had been a hot minute. And the last one was over something a sight more serious than shaving time off a Sickbay stay. But McCoy wasn’t kidding when he said he’d kept a tab. For argument’s sake, he pulled up the special file with the little spreadsheet and footnotes. 

Noteable instances of unauthorized leave included the incident with Spock’s  _ pon farr _ (minus 72 hours), their return from Sarpiedon (minus 90 hours), and one of the times that just made his blood boil: Ekos (did not report immediately, 144 hours lost). Overall, Spock had racked up a whopping deficit of 2143.45 hours due to Sickbay walkouts. Looking over the many instances of single-hour skips for missing physicals, McCoy was overcome with the feeling that a lot of these logs were petty. 

Petty sure, but nearly 3 months of missing recuperation seemed to indicate it was justified. 

McCoy released a breath and tried to let go of some tension with it. He didn’t want to collect the hours, not truly. While he was of the opinion that Spock should’ve rested better, stayed healthy, or been innoculated with just a little common sense… He found at the core he couldn’t find fault with the Vulcan’s motivations. His  _ true _ ones, not all that bunk about not being able to stand Sickbay or whatever logic he eventually cached it in. The same drive kept McCoy working late. If he’d bothered to keep track, his unreported overtime numbers might look similar.

He picked up his coffee again and took a sip. Didn’t matter that it had gone cold during all this introspection. How did he cope with the fact that neither of them could give an inch and both feel entirely justified? Any mediating party would rule them both a few stars short of a solar system and recommend they take it down a notch. Spock had his duty. McCoy did as well.  _ Is this how Jim feels when he’s gotta dodge Starfleet Command? Does it go double for reckless Captains, or are they all born with the same blasted assurance that they’re right? _

McCoy realized bleakly that this mood he was in was his own fault. Too many years of playing the devil’s advocate got him looking for exceptions.  _ What’s the galaxy coming to that such a pig-headed sonuvagun can’t find his opinion unshakeable by an open mind? _ That sounded suspiciously like Chapel’s voice. He chuckled to himself. Getting her onboard as a Doctor was near the best thing that had ever happened on this ship. 

Spock would rather risk his health than risk the ship, when it came down to it. That logic was on shaky ground, regardless of what the Vulcan said about his abilities, but it made a crazy kind of sense. McCoy would rather risk his neck than the crew’s even without a guarantee that his input would do a thing. Curse him for entertaining this line of rationale, but he understood.  _ Is it what I would do in his place? Yes. Blasted hobgoblin logic… _

McCoy got up and slung his coffee cup in the disposal chute with a curse. “Go get your atoms scrambled!” Maybe this telepathic wave was catching. Forcing him to use his head rather than his big mouth. The audacity of it all!

Maybe he was just stalling. No amount of thinking about it changed things. With a heavy sigh, he headed for his office door. Two turns through the main ward and he was back in the-

Back just in time to catch Spock red handed. The hobgoblin was midway off his biobed, having already disabled the alarm. At least he had the grace to look ashamed. 

McCoy shoved down the spike of red-hot irritation under a deep breath. “Get lost, Spock.” Neither of them were completely in the wrong. Neither of them were right. “I don’t want to hear it.” He turned on his heel and headed for where Conna and Icheleus were recovering. 

Before entering the room, McCoy took a moment to compose himself. Even if their telepathic abilities weren’t firing on all cylinders, he didn’t want to add a flaring temper to the mix. He straightened up and opened the door. 

Surprise of surprises, he found the pair of Trievans had another visitor. 

“Fancy meeting you here, Bones. I was just catching up with our old friends before we begin pre-docking procedures.”

McCoy joined Jim between the overlarge biobeds. “Really? We that close already?”

Conna’s tail had started wagging lightly. “Our condition has been improving steadily. As a matter of fact, I was alert enough to sense the storm’s passing.”

“That’s great to hear.” McCoy found the tension easing just by being in the room. “Your readings tell the same story. Doctor Clifford is monitoring the residual radiation dropoff and seems confident we shouldn’t have any more troubles.”

Conna actually chortled. “Kirk’s Law wins again.”

Jim turned to Bones with his patented ‘have you lost your mind’ look. 

“That being ‘Kirk’s  _ Enterprise _ can sweet-talk its way out of a black hole if pressed’.” Not his smoothest cover, but McCoy gave it a shot. Jim’s eyebrows were still encroaching on his hairline, but he was also fighting down a grin. 

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear anything about it.” Jim jabbed a finger in McCoy’s direction. “I don’t know what he’s been telling you, but keep an eye on him, Lieutenant.” He started towards the door. “We’re sending the advance group down in a few minutes. Don’t start a mutiny before then.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Jim. Don’t have the ambition.” McCoy chuckled at his Captain/Admiral’s back as the door shut. Joking around like that, he could almost forget the stress of the morning. It seemed like a completely traceable breakdown. He could follow the buildup if not justify it. At least they’d made it out the other side. 

Icheleus shook his ears and gave them one of those face-splitting yawns dogs like to surprise folks with. “While not a true rest, it seems that our stay was restful.” He turned to Conna as the translator churned out his words. “It’s not an experience I would like to repeat. At least- Well, I suppose it is a relief only some of us were affected.”

A knowing look passed between the Trievans. McCoy caught on. “I did get a visit from young Miss Rhaelam. She’s right as rain if you were worried.”

Icheleus visibly relaxed. “I was. She is troubled in a way that Ramicran and I can not understand, though we do try. It’s good that she was able to handle this incident.”

While reluctant to turn the phrase ‘speak of the devil and he shall appear’ it was just a bit uncanny that the doors behind him opened at that moment. Then again, perhaps it was Icheleus’  _ broader _ reach that prompted his words. Rhaelam herself bounded in followed by another devil of their acquaintance. 

Whatever Spock was waiting to say was pushed back by Rhaelam’s excitement. She was practically bouncing at Icheleus’ bedside. “Papa you will not believe it! I went for a run in a field back home, and visited mountains on Earth, and played a ball game with Ensign Ennis from Hydroponics-” Her tail was wagging a mile a minute. McCoy actually forgot his irritation for a moment. That was one problem resolved and wrapped up in a neat little bow. The little lady had made a complete 180. Where she was gloomy now she was bright. Where she was still, now she was energetic and active. 

Icheleus couldn’t hide his surprise. “I take it you have made use of our hosts’ holodeck?”

Rhaelam nodded enthusiastically enough to flop her ears. “It was so much bigger than I thought it would be! When it started up, I didn’t think that I would be able to run and jump like we did. Ennis turned off the gravity for one of the games and we even got some of the Avarian delegation to play!”

Spock chose this moment to clear his throat. Things were still frosty, but McCoy hadn’t completely abandoned the possibility of a thaw. 

“I was following your direction to ‘get lost’ when I came across Miss Rhaelam in the hall. She required directions. If there is nothing further, I will return to my station.”

“No, you’re free to go, Spock. Thank you for bringing her by. I’d hate to lose a three-hundred pound puppy between here and the holodecks.”

It was as close as an apology as they were likely to exchange.  _ Ah well. _ Neither of them could give an inch, right? There was something to be said for consistency. 

“Thank you, Doctor. I will return to my station.”

But if he did, McCoy didn’t know. Something grabbed him by the solar plexus and rippled a wave of energy all the way out over the surface of his skin. Spock was moving, but he was too bright and shaky. 

Bright and bright and darker and darker and darker and darker…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3 months of radio silence and then a cliffhanger! Well, good news is we have a plot. Neutral news is my muse says no more writing style we're just going to tell it like it goes.


	6. The Dark is Worse than the Bite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> here's the plot you've been waiting for

McCoy awoke to the strongest sense of deja vu as a very large, cold, and wet nose prodded him in the face. The rapid snuffling reached his ears before his eyes were all the way open. For a long moment, he was back in the cave with Lady Rev, wholly content to relax on the hard floor. But that wasn’t right-  _ Her name’s Mumidran, and she’s back on Trievas II... _

The canine next to him was reddish and dark, that much he could see in the low light. McCoy figured he must’ve taken some kind of whallop to forget Rhaelam entirely. But, he must not have been out long to be left on the floor in Sickbay. Only… Sickbay’s night wasn’t this dark. The floor wasn’t uneven. The last clue wafted over him on the gentle breeze: woodfire smoke. 

“We’re not in Kansas anymore.” His mind half-registered that Rhaleam wouldn’t understand the reference. With all the strange worlds, charlatan leaders, and seemingly supernatural troubles the  _ Enterprise _ ran into,  _ The Wizard of Oz _ had become somewhat of a running gag. When Rhaleam didn’t respond to him at all, he tried to find her face. 

She was still wearing her ‘dog sweater’ from the pop of gray McCoy could catch. It didn’t look like she was hurt, but she was missing a very important piece of equipment. 

“Your translator.” McCoy realized. “It’s gone.”

And that was the cue his brain needed to round up the observations his mind had made while rebooting. He could put smoke and flickering light together to make fire, but it was partially obscured by the walls of a ramshackle tent. McCoy and Rhaleam were alone, and left without any furniture or equipment. If there was anyone else out there, they were doing a very good job of keeping quiet. 

Next he catalogued himself. Whoever it was that had grabbed them seemed to have left them alone. He had a splitting headache that didn’t stem from a particular source. Not blunt-force trauma then. Of course, what little of the moments of unconsciousness flickered in his memory led him to believe their abduction had been somewhat transporter based. 

His companion wriggled at his side and scooted up closer than she’d come so far. Being so big, it was easy to forget she was like a teenager. Really, still a child. McCoy was for all intents and purposes the authority figure. That meant it was up to him to do the figuring. 

“Alright.” He whispered in case there were listening ears out there, “I’m up. I take it you can see better than I can?” Rhaleam moved and McCoy found himself seeking out the flat spot just between her ears. It was a calming parallel for earth canines and this way he could tell if she nodded in response to a question. 

“First things first- are we in any immediate danger?” He felt Rhaleam start to nod, but she stopped and shook her head.  _ So, she’s clearly scared of what’s been happening but doesn’t believe we’re about to get it anytime soon. _ “That’s good, gives us some time. Have you seen any of the others?”

A nod. “Do you know where they are now?” Another nod. “That’s good too. Can we get to them?”

Rhaelam shook her head. So much for that, but it begged another question. “Do you know why?”  _ Yes _ . “Is it because they’re being watched, or held somewhere?”  _ Yes _ . “Are we?”

This nod was accompanied with a whine so low it barely reached his ears. He reached around to pat Rhaleam’s side and found she was trembling. The cold hand of fear clawed at his gut. It was no time to lose his head, but he needed more information than a game of twenty questions could provide. 

“Do you know who they have?” She nodded. “Alright we’re gonna figure this out together, don’t you worry none. I’ll list some names and if you know they’re here nod, if you don’t know them or they’re not here shake your head. Is your father here?”

_ Yes. _

“And Lieutenant Conna?”

_ Yes. _

“And Captain Kirk?”

_ No. _ No? He seemed like the logical one to grab, or in any case the one unlucky enough to be here. “Is that because you don’t recognize him?”  _ No. _ That was right, she would know Jim. He’d been around and they’d been introduced. That begged the question-

“Spock?”

_ Yes. _

Conna, Icheleus, Spock, and not Jim. Him and Rhaelam, and not Jim. This jigsaw puzzle was falling into place. Unfortunately, it was doing so in a manner he didn’t approve of. Then again, when were the whims of fate out for his approval? McCoy closed his eyes as the perpetual tension headache inflicted on him by Starfleet began to return in force. They got all the Trievans, him, and Spock. And not Jim. Where had they been before he blacked out? Why, all in the same place. It didn’t take a snappy Vulcan intellect to put two and two together. 

“They targeted Sickbay.” He growled. Exasperation didn’t half cover it. Either there was a spy in their midst or, more likely, the same fools what had been designing starships for the last ever had their brilliant little cookie-cutter plans fall into the wrong hands. 

McCoy fell back onto the dirt floor and pressed his hands to his eyes. “I could just about kill Jim-”

Rhaelam whined. 

“No, it’s not his fault, sorry. Force of habit.” Massaging his forehead was a futile gesture, but it was something to do. “You’ll forgive me a little human emotionalism as I’m about sick of-” 

His eyes popped open and McCoy sat bolt upright. With a shock, he stared at Rhaleam. 

“How come you understand everything I’m saying?”

“I don’t know! Do you have a translator?”

“Aha!” McCoy pointed at her with a mixture of dread and triumph on his face. “You said somethin’ loud and clear! I don’t have a translator on me- at least, not the kind you’re thinking of. Yes or no, that’s the first time you’ve tried to ‘speak’ since I got up?”

“Yes. I mean-” Rhaelam sunk low to the ground and started looking around. Even in the low light McCoy could see her shuddering. “I don’t know what’s happening! I just want to find my father and Conna and leave this awful planet!”

One side of his skull throbbed. McCoy got the sinking feeling that it would only keep up. “Since we’ve got the benefit of being able to understand each other, why don’t you elaborate on where we are and who’s keepin’ us here?”

Rhaelam drew in a deep breath but didn’t look up. “There are… There are so many aliens, Doctor McCoy! Like Commander Spock, but not dressed like Starfleet. And others who were like Trievans but smaller, with short fur. They yelled at my father and Conna but they wouldn’t wake up… I thought you wouldn’t wake up too…”

‘Like Spock but not Starfleet’ could just about mean only one thing. It was just convoluted enough… Oh, and the timing was perfect, lest he forget about Canopis Station. But, he’d better not count his chickens before they’d turned disruptors on everyone. 

“Did they say what they wanted?”

Rhaleam sniffed. “They wanted to talk to the leader. They were right to find my father, but he wouldn’t wake up. The small ones were yelling about negotiations, and upholding their end of the deal. The other aliens tried to reassure them. I didn’t say anything after they took my translator. One of the small ones thought it was a weapon, until the other aliens told them otherwise.”

None of that meant anything to him, but it did inform their situation a little better. Obviously, this was a hostage situation. Whoever the ‘small ones’ were wanted some kind of leverage and their associates- McCoy strongly suspected an empire of his acquaintance- were trying to placate them with giant, unconscious dogs. 

“I guess we play this by ear, then. Since I’m the ranking conscious officer, I’ll figure out what to do.”

Rhaelam seemed relieved by this, and McCoy was as flattered as he was surprised. “My mother told me about your quick thinking and bravery. I didn’t want to embarrass my father, but you’re something of a hero on Trievas II. You know, there are a lot of young ‘Leonat’s and ‘Leonala’s in my school-”

She was interrupted when they both heard the footsteps outside the tent. One of the fabric walls drew back, revealing a figure shrouded in shadow. Not much could be discerned in the low light, but McCoy was sure he saw the glint off the barrel of a disruptor. But, before their mysterious visitor could so much as say a word, the tent flap was disrupted again. A small shape barrelled across the floor and came to stop just in front of them. Alarmed, Rhaelam scooted closer to McCoy. 

“Worms! Beetles!” A shrill voice began from the darkness, “You will one of you start speaking to us now, or you both of you face our wrath!”

McCoy squinted into the gloom. He didn’t need long to puzzle out the newcomer, because their friend with the disruptor switched on some kind of yellow flashlight. Standing before them, hackles raised, was the last thing McCoy expected to see. 

It was a tiny, very angry looking dog. 

“Oh you have  _ got _ to be kidding me!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I completed an epic Advent challenge on FFN this last December, and in doing so have come to appreciate the value of shorter chapters. Why pad the text if you've said all that's got to be said? Not that I'm gunning for 1000 words or less. TL;DR this is going to be exactly as long as it needs to be. In the famous words of galactic heartthrob Captain Montaine Buchanan, "No more, no less"


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